


Thirst

by granger_danger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Co-workers, Cunnilingus, Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, HP Kinkfest 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Make Draco Beg For It 2020, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Sex Positive Hermione, Sexual Tension, Smut, Some Humor, Squirting, WAP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22858891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/granger_danger/pseuds/granger_danger
Summary: “It’s totally normal, for the record, and I know it’s not to everyone’s tastes,” Hermione said somewhat defensively, starting to sit up. “But if you could not take the piss, just this once -”“Granger, wait,” Draco pleaded, hauling her to him and kissing her fiercely before she could leave the bed. “Do you have any idea how unbearably hard that makes me?” he whispered huskily into her ear, his warm breath making her shiver.***Featuring: smutty encounters over the course of a decade, a sex-positive Hermione, squirting orgasms, and all the feels.***
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 62
Kudos: 619
Collections: HP Kinkfest 2020





	Thirst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheLastLynx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastLynx/gifts).



> Apparently it's impossible for me to write a smutty one-shot without turning it into a decade-long love story. 😅 But this still somehow manages to be ~80% sex, so buckle up. 💦💦💦
> 
> For [TheLastLynx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastLynx/pseuds/TheLastLynx), whose HP Kinkfest 2020 prompt inspired this work. Have patience, as it takes me a while to get _all_ the way to the prompt, but I do get there! I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> **Kink:** Squirting  
>  **Pairing:** Dramione  
>  **Optional Supplementary Prompt:** I'd love for there to be more than just a little trickle of wetness. Like actual squirting when you need cleaning charms or protective sheets, with all the leg-shaking, exhausting whole-body experience
> 
> I'm so grateful to [PacificRimbaud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacificRimbaud/pseuds/PacificRimbaud) for alpha-ing this work! All errors are my own.

**Prelude  
** _Friday, July 27, 2001_

When their hands brushed as they both reached for napkins at the Ministry canteen, Hermione flinched back at the magnetic pull that she felt. Her bewildered eyes met Malfoy’s smirking gaze.

“Why so surprised, Granger?” His voice was playful, his smile winsome. “ _Everyone_ knows we have chemistry.” 

She hated how casually seductive he was, but not as much as she hated the immediate effect it had on her every time.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she lied. Her tone was distant, professional, even as her flush deepened. She gathered up her tray of sad salad and turned to go.

“See you at the weekly meeting,” he called after her, pleasantly enough. Only a seasoned Malfoy-watcher could detect the wicked glint lighting his eyes with silver. Regrettably, she had _years_ of experience watching him. 

“Right,” she muttered over her shoulder, irrationally irritated.

Ever since Malfoy had been hired into the Department of Magical Law last year, Hermione was forever rounding some corner to find Draco leaning elegantly against a wall with his shirt sleeves rolled up. 

Or walking into a theoretically empty conference room to set up camp only to find him there already with a stack of papers and books, looking distressingly svelte and intelligent in thin-framed reading glasses. 

Or looking up to find him looming casually in the doorway of her office, his white-blonde hair falling gently into his eyes, requesting her opinion on some obscure law related to magical creature rights, even though she was hardly the official law expert in her department. 

Hermione should have only had to see Draco on Fridays, at the debrief meeting between the Department for Magical Creature Relations, where she was slowly working her way up the bureaucratic ladder, and the DMLE, where he was a magical law intern. And yet, he was somehow _everywhere_ , handsome and infuriating and distractingly debonair. 

She was supposed to hate him with every fiber of her being, not swoon like a schoolgirl whenever he entered a room. 

Even worse, verbal sparring wasn’t supposed to be foreplay. Yet every time Draco served some smug phrase at her and she lobbed back a practiced retort, she had to go splash cold water on her face before she could get any work done. 

What was _wrong_ with her? And why did she feel, despite herself, like they were careening towards some unavoidable crescendo? 

\--<>\--

_Friday, August 17, 2001_

In the end, she had only been able to defer the inevitable a few more weeks.

“Pay up, Granger.” Draco’s smile was ruthlessly charming as he lounged against her door jamb in his shirtsleeves. “You owe me a firewhisky.”

His robes were tossed carelessly over one shoulder, held aloft by one perfect bare forearm - his blemish-free right arm, which she was sure wasn’t an accident. His casually but perfectly rolled French linen sleeve rested just at his elbow. It was 4:52 pm. He had already taken off his tie; the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, displaying a considerable amount of Adam’s apple. Damn him. 

“Stop _lurking_ , Malfoy.” Hermione’s damp curls had stuck to her forehead - the best cooling charms in the world couldn’t quite touch the swelter of the Ministry on a hot summer day. 

She’d only ever agreed to Draco’s stupid bet regarding the protected legal status of Diricrawls because she’d been positive she was right. That’s what she had told herself, at least. Certainly she hadn’t agreed for more dangerous reasons. Never mind the fact that whether she won or lost, the bet ended with them going out for a drink, and she had agreed to it all the same. 

Hermione Granger always got what she wanted, even if she hadn’t quite admitted to herself yet what exactly it was that she wanted.

“Like you can’t afford to buy your own drinks,” she sniffed, aiming for indifference even as her pulse quickened. “Besides, you know I like to work until 6.” She turned back to the scroll she’d been studying, plucking her quill from where she’d tucked it behind her ear. 

“Oh no, Granger, you’re not getting out of this,” Draco sung, slow and self-satisfied. He’d stepped forward, gently grasping Hermione’s wrist and giving it a teasing tug. “I won fair and square. Where’s your Gryffindor sense of justice? Let’s go!”

“Fine,” Hermione grumbled indignantly. An electric hum thrummed rebelliously in her veins at his touch. “But nothing older than ten years! Some of us live on a budget.” 

From the moment they exited the Ministry toilets and climbed up into the sultry August air, his poised hand still guiding her at the small of her back, she knew. 

Before the first lukewarm firewhisky and the look of challenge in his eyes.

Before their heated debate about the impacts of the Fifth Goblin Rebellion on current magical creature legislation - and _why_ , why did getting into an intellectual wrestling match with him make her so maddeningly wet? 

Before his knee knocked into hers under the bar and he rested his hand on her thigh, then lifted a triumphant brow at her, smug bastard that he was, as her breath caught in her throat. 

Before he excused himself to use the facilities only to find her waiting for him outside the loo with an unmistakable look in her darkened eyes. Before the first crash of lips and hips, before she pushed him into one wall of the narrow hall and he then pinned her against the opposite wall, before the hasty negotiation in which she insisted on a Muggle hotel room even as he sank his teeth into her bare shoulder, her muscles twitching under his tongue . . . 

Before, before, _before_ . . . 

Before any of that, she could already feel her carefully built defenses unraveling completely. No, from the very first moment that his cool hand had pressed firmly into the small of her back as he guided her out into the summer air, it had been abundantly clear. 

Hermione Granger was definitely going to sleep with Draco Malfoy tonight, and moreover, she wasn’t even going to try to stop herself. 

* * *

**First Movement  
** _Friday, August 17, 2001_

“Wait, Malfoy,” Hermione gasped. Draco reluctantly dragged his teeth from her luminous neck and hovered above her watchfully. 

Granger was truly a vision, sprawled out on the mattress beneath him, her hair spilling out in a wild halo around her flushed face. Her open lips had a smudged quality from being abraded by his rough kisses. Draco stole a glance at her freckled chest, heaving beneath the sheer black lace of her longline bra as she struggled to catch her breath. His bare stomach was pressed to hers, and she had pulled his cock free from his black boxer briefs moments before. The head was brushing teasingly against her slick folds, the gusset of her knickers pulled aside. 

This was the stuff of a thousand fruitless teenaged wet dreams, and it was finally tangible, more vivid and wonderful than he had ever dared to imagine it could be. Closing his eyes briefly to summon inner strength, he tucked his erection back into his briefs and pulled back.

Propped on one arm above her, Draco locked eyes with her. “What is it?” he asked pensively. 

This was it, then. She had thought the better of it, certainly, and would shove him off abruptly while prattling on about what a bad idea it was - the two of them - listing all of the unquestionably very sensible reasons why it could never happen between them. He would go to his grave never knowing the greatly anticipated pleasures of burying himself to the hilt in Granger’s undoubtedly exquisite cunt. And here he had been so close. Draco braced himself for her impending rejection.

Only it didn’t come. Hermione only bit her lip uncertainly, leveling her warm brown eyes at him. She seemed about to speak, but the moment dragged on as she hesitated. Merlin, was she _nervous_? And if so, what was she so nervous about? 

His eyes went wide as he had the sudden concern that she may in fact still be a virgin. “Granger,” he said carefully, as though she were a horse he might spook. From where he hovered above her, his white-blonde hair was falling into his grey eyes as he looked at her searchingly. The arm he was propped on was starting to tire. 

“This isn’t . . . ? That is, you have done this before, haven’t you?” he asked, a little too stiffly. There was an awkwardness to treating her so gently; neither one of them was used to it.

“Of _course_ I have, you great prat,” Hermione spat with an enormous roll of her eyes. She snorted in amused derision, shaking her head, and his cock twitched involuntarily. Apparently, a smart woman’s scorn only served to make him harder. 

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not a _virgin_.” She rolled out from under him artlessly and turned so that they were both lying on their sides, facing each other. 

“Wouldn’t it just get you off if I were, though?” she scoffed, smirking at him rather evilly. “You probably expected me in white cotton granny pants.” The blank look of surprise on his face confirmed that the thought had indeed crossed his mind. 

She shook her head indignantly and tossed a great mass of curls over her shoulder. 

“Circe, Malfoy, I’m 21 years old, and I might be a bit . . . buttoned-up . . . but I’m also a living, breathing, sex-positive modern woman. What a frightening lack of imagination.” Granger wrinkled her nose at him and cuffed him on the arm playfully as she started laughing. “Honestly!” 

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Draco smiled at her winningly as his fingers stirred small circles over her hip bone. She bit her lip and loosed a soft moan, though whether it was at his touch or at being told that she was right, he mused, the world may never know. 

He dipped his thumb experimentally beneath the waistband of her shockingly tasteful lacy black knickers. They were, to his mind, uncharacteristically sexy. Who’d have known Granger had it in her? 

“Though I _was_ pleasantly surprised by these . . .” he admitted with an impish leer, raising one platinum brow at her and dragging his fingers lower. She inhaled sharply and trembled under his hand, which he took to be a good sign. 

“Well then, Granger,” he drawled, “if I’m not your first -” 

She cut him off with a groan, thwapping him with a spare pillow. 

“- What is it, then?” he whispered. Draco’s eyes were intense but soft. He kept his voice patient, which was also new. 

“Em, well, if we’re going to do this . . .” Hermione cleared her throat and looked slightly to the side before meeting his eyes. His covered erection was brushing her stomach and her hand was resting on his chest, quite intimately. Even so, she was staring at him with imperious brows, rather as though she were about to launch into an informational lecture. “Have you ever heard of female ejaculation?” 

Something about the juxtaposition of her prim, academic tone with the physical reality of her - pressed up against him, breathing unevenly in black lingerie, draped over the high-thread-count white linen of a _very_ posh Muggle hotel bed - was unbearably erotic. 

Draco groaned with want. He rolled her onto her back and dropped over her again, pressing his hard cock against her core through their underwear as he dropped his lips to her lovely neck once more. He pinned her wrists above her on the bed and held them there with one hand, letting the other drift longingly down the side of her breast. 

He worked his way up her neck as he spoke, leaving hot kisses in his wake. “Is that . . . your way . . . of telling me . . . you’re a squirter . . . Granger?” As he growled her name into her ear, he dipped the hand that had been brushing over her breast down to her knickers. Draco pressed his fingers gently between her legs, his breath catching when he found the lacy fabric soaked through. 

“I’m serious, Malfoy,” Hermione said, squirming a bit under him. As she shifted away from his hand, her pelvis collided with his boxer brief-clad erection, and she bucked into it automatically, making delightful little noises that certainly seemed involuntary. An adorable flush had crept onto her cheeks. 

“It’s ah - that’s lovely, but stop a second, will you?” she asked, cringing apologetically. He’d been cheekily grinding against her, but when she spoke, he immediately stilled above her and released her wrists, propping himself on one elbow and waiting quietly. 

Hermione peered up at him somewhat sheepishly. “It’s not just a trickle,” she said. There was a confessional quality to her words, though she had schooled her face into careful neutrality. “It’s, em, cups really, and I can’t always control it . . . And anyway, if you’re not in for it, I would understand.” She rubbed her nose and glanced up to the ceiling, avoiding his eyes. 

Draco gaped at her, consumed by the vivid mental image of an uninhibited Granger gushing cups of her warm come directly onto his face whilst crying out his name. First or last, either would do. He couldn’t think of anything more compelling, but she seemed, inexplicably, to be waiting for him to kick her out of bed. 

“It’s totally normal, for the record, and I know it’s not to everyone’s tastes,” Hermione said somewhat defensively, starting to sit up. She’d clearly misinterpreted his silence. “But if you could not take the piss, just this once -”

“Granger, wait,” he pleaded, hauling her to him and kissing her fiercely before she could leave the bed. Her hair was tickling his neck. She tasted like firewhisky and toothpaste and everything about her was intoxicating. “Do you have any idea how _unbearably_ hard that makes me?” he whispered huskily into her ear, his warm breath making her shiver. 

Draco tumbled onto his back and pulled her astride him. He grasped her wrist with elegant fingers and tugged her small, soft hand down to skate over the bulging outline of his cock. She rubbed him through the fabric, biting her lip unconsciously as she gazed down at him with fire in her eyes. His cock was nearly pulsing, twitching slightly in her hand. The drag of the fabric over his throbbing erection was pleasurably torturous. 

“Really?” she asked hoarsely, guiding her hand under the waistband and wrapping it tightly around him. Draco hissed at the contact and grunted, thrusting into her hand. She moved her lips quietly as she cast a wandless lubrication spell. 

“Granger, a witch who squirts - mmm . . . yes, fuck, like that - is every man’s fantasy.” And then he inhaled sharply, because her hands on his cock were engaged in a very specific maneuver. It felt divine and was incredibly precise, and he wondered idly if she had learned it from a book. 

He reached up to tweak her nipples through the sheer lace. 

“That’s - ahhh - ridiculous, Malfoy -” Hermione’s eyes fluttered and she moaned softly, arching her back as she leaned into his touch and continued to stroke his cock. “- the idea that every man - oh, yes, harder - has the same fantasy is, mmmmmm . . . - it’s the epitome, really - unghh, oh! - of toxic masculinity -”

Granger’s discourse came to a sudden halt as Draco pinched her nipples harder, twisting them slightly, and she gasped, biting her lip again and squeezing his erection. 

“Fine,” Draco gritted out, panting a bit as she worked her lovely fingers over the head of his cock. “A witch who squirts is _my_ fantasy. I _want_ you, Granger. And I’m going to make you come so hard that we entirely ruin this extremely expensive bed,” he threatened, in full swagger. His voice was low and his darkened eyes drilled into her, intent. 

“Good,” Hermione agreed, her voice crisp and surprisingly matter-of-fact. She climbed off of him abruptly and unclasped her bra, squirming out of it gracelessly and tossing it to the floor. She left the knickers on and flopped sideways across the clean white king, several square feet of absolutely _grabbable_ hair cascading out around her chaotically. When she came to rest, her hips were perched at the very edge of the bedside and her feet were flat on the floor.

“I do expect that you make me come once before there’s any penetration,” she said in the exact tone in which she listed off action items at Ministry meetings. Again, Draco found himself unexpectedly turned on by the contrast between Granger’s intrinsic swottiness and the languid way she was laid out before him, waiting for him to feast on her cunt, the creamy handfuls of her perfect, bare breasts just out of his reach. 

She cast a sideways glance over at him from where she lay draped over the mattress. Arching a brow impatiently, she let one hand drift down between her legs. When she spoke, it was with total authority. “Let’s _go_ , Malfoy. On your knees.”

“Should have known you’d be a bossy bottom,” Draco groused happily as he crawled over to her, laying soft kisses on her stomach. 

He wanted to stroke the purple scar that dipped below her panty line, but they had come to an unspoken agreement to avoid each other’s scars. He nipped the edge of her knickers with his teeth before getting off of the bed and kneeling at her feet.

“If you don’t like it, Malfoy, you can leave. I’m perfectly capable of taking matters into my own hands.” 

If she was bluffing, it didn’t show. 

“Oh, I like it plenty.” He smiled wickedly. 

“By the way, Granger, if you only expect to come once before I fuck you,” he drawled, dragging the scrap of black lace down her thighs with petulant slowness, “then I’m afraid you’re setting your standard far too low.” He worked her knickers over her feet and cast them across the room.

Granger was forever rolling her eyes. 

“And so humble as well,” she sniped, but her pupils were large and her breathing was jagged. He kissed and nuzzled her inner thighs, then hovered before her for a moment, absolutely certain that she could feel his warm breath on his cunt. He thrilled at driving her crazy with impatience, catching her off her guard, making her wait. 

“Actions speak louder than words, Malfoy,” she groaned feverishly. When she finally tried to writhe into his touch, he pulled back. 

“On _your_ knees, I should think,” he said, suddenly grasping her around the hips with both hands and tugging her up so she landed on her hands and knees on the bed. 

“Malfoy -” 

“Patience is a virtue, Granger. Stay there, won’t you? Else you’re bound to kick me in the head.” Draco spread her knees a bit further apart, then slid under her, lying on his back between her parted thighs. He raised his head up and grasped her hips, eagerly dragging his tongue along her folds before flicking it over her clit. 

“Finally,” Hermione moaned, thrashing against him. Her wild gyrations forced Draco down on his back. He pulled her hips down to his mouth so that she was essentially sitting on his face. 

“Jesus!” she cried, throwing her head back and grinding her clit into his noble nose.

“I know I’m good, Granger, but I’m still only a mortal man,” Draco muttered into her labia around a smirk, lifting her hips ever so slightly to avoid death by suffocation. Although, what a way to go that would be, fatally smothered by Granger’s cunt. He had been right; it was indeed _exquisite_. 

“Oh, do shut up, Malfoy.” When he sucked her clit into his mouth, she rolled her eyes heavenward, gasping and bucking into him.

Then something ruthless flashed in her eyes, and she abruptly rose to her knees, lifting her hips out of his reach. She shifted her legs slightly, pinning his shoulders under her shins. 

“How badly do you want my cunt in your mouth, Malfoy?” Granger asked, sitting back on his chest and looming over him with a cruel smile. He could feel her wet cunt against his breastbone and it was driving him spare. Her shoulders were thrust back and her bare breasts bobbed above him. Her eyes were on fire with righteousness. She was beautiful and terrible and he wanted her to pin him to a bed and boss him around every single day of his life. 

Not that she needed to know that.  
  
“How badly do _you_ want it, Granger?” His cock was positively throbbing with need, but she didn’t need to know that either. 

“Don’t bet against me, Malfoy. I don’t lose.” She smirked at him, and he chuckled darkly.

“You _did_ lose our bet. That’s why you’re here.”

“Did I, though?” she asked archly, raising an eyebrow. “Or did I get exactly what I wanted?” 

Well played, Granger. 

“Which is what, exactly?” He arched a brow back at her.

Hermione shot him a merciless look that made him wonder if he had underestimated her. 

“You, between my thighs, begging to bury your face in my cunt -”

“- I’m not _begging_ , Granger -”

“Not _yet_.” She narrowed her eyes at him and bit her lip.

He could feel his cock twitching again. Regrettably, she had a point. 

Hermione reached up and cupped her breasts. As she pinched her nipples, she shifted her hips forward, letting her cunt sway closer to his face. She had him and he could tell that she knew it. 

Malfoy closed his eyes and groaned. 

“Well, Malfoy, how badly do you want it?” Granger was smiling like the cat who’d gotten the cream, as though she had already won. Sodding _Gryffindors_. He was ready for her to stop talking, though. 

“Badly,” he whispered hoarsely, wriggling beneath her. If he could only get an arm free, he could pull her hips down to his mouth - 

“Ask me, Malfoy -”

“Granger, will you kindly shut up and let me go down on you?”

“What do you say?” she sang out sweetly, flashing him an irritatingly syrupy smile. 

Malfoy hesitated, gritting his teeth. Was he really going to do this? He did want her _desperately_ , and there _was_ something rather freeing about giving himself over to Granger completely. _Fine_. He rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. 

“Please.” Despite his efforts at dignity, it came out fairly whiny. “Please, Granger. Please may I put my mouth on your cunt and make you come?” 

Hermione grinned triumphantly. 

“How many times are you going to make me come, Malfoy?”

“As many as you can possibly stand.”

“That’s more like it.” She released his shoulders. Draco grasped her hips and pulled her to him. He lapped at her cunt like a man dying of thirst, and he didn’t stop until she was screaming his name as her juices drizzled down his chin. 

“There will be more where that came from,” Hermione said matter-of-factly as she dismounted. “You haven’t even hit my g-spot yet. Here, I’ll show you.” 

And as she pulled him down onto the bed with her, wrapping her delicate fingers around two of his fingers, he kissed her fervently, his face still wet with her. Her lips parted and she hummed softly as their tongues tangled. He pulled her closer even as she pushed his hand down to her cunt. 

He wanted to drown in her. 

* * *

**Intermezzo  
** _Friday, November 10, 2006_

Draco took a quick inventory. 

Four times that he had made her come that first night. 

Twice that they’d seen each other in the weeks after, drunk on one another’s flesh and delving head-first into the hottest, most combative sex he’d ever had. 

All told, perhaps three cups of warm, clear, salty fluid gushing over his cock, his fingers, his mouth as she cried out his name. Malfoy nine times, Draco once. 

One month after that first night before Hermione was offered the interim position in the French ministry, and two more weeks before she was gone. 

Four or five letters by owl, before their correspondence dwindled. Their dynamic relied on them being in the same place - first they argued, then they fucked. What did he have to say to her that he could say by _owl_?

One international Portkey, which he purchased in secret but never mustered the courage to use.

Five rather bleak years since she had left, made up mostly of long grey days overflowing with his mother’s mystified consternation at his reluctance to nail down an arranged marriage. 

One rather pathetic evening two years ago in which Potter had let drop that Hermione was visiting and they were all celebrating at the Leaky Cauldron. Fifteen minutes in which he had paced outside in the alley before Apparating away without ever going in. 

Eight days since he had walked into the Ministry to find Granger standing in the center of the lobby in a maroon cloak, laughing with a small crowd of admirers. He hadn’t known she was back; there had been no word from her for more than three years. The sight of her had nearly knocked the wind out of him. Her face had gone pale when she had seen him, her eyes bewildered. He had turned away and strode off to his office without stopping to say hello, but he had felt her gaze lingering on his back. 

Four days since she had sent him an owl, asking him to meet her for drinks at the same bar where they had first kissed. 

Two hours and seventeen minutes until he was due to meet her.

No matter how he added it all up, the conclusion was clear. Draco Malfoy was doomed. 

* * *

**Second Movement  
** _Saturday, November 18, 2006_

“What’s this, Granger?” Malfoy asked, his voice dripping with disdain. He was glaring at the white quilted pad she had laid out on the bed as though it had personally insulted him. Draco was lounging comfortably across her blue flannel sheets in nothing but his pants like he _belonged_ there, long and lean and absolutely unhurried.

Some vague ache within her heart stirred. 

“They’re Muggle incontinence pads that I’ve charmed with extra absorption and cleaning spells. A godsend, truly.” She arched a brow at the skeptical face he was making. They had a hospital-ish quality, it was true, but they were quite _effective_ , and he needn’t look at her like that. “We can’t afford to destroy furniture every time we sleep together, Draco.” 

_Draco_. Had she been brain-snatched? 

“Speak for yourself,” he muttered wryly, but he grudgingly spread out the pad. She rolled her eyes, half-heartedly, through an irrepressible smile. 

Something in him had quietened since she’d last been in England. He was still prickly and vain, but far less cocky. He had, perhaps, grown up a bit. His natural elegance hung on him more strikingly even than it used to. 

She fidgeted with the lacy strap of her forest green bra. It seemed a bit on the nose, Slytherin lingerie, but she had wanted, inexplicably, to please him. Make it up to him, after abruptly dropping out of and then back into his life with no warning. Now it simply felt a bit ridiculous. 

This was only the second time they’d been together since she had come back. Hermione felt skittish and exposed. 

“Come back to me,” Draco said softly, patting the spot on the bed next to him. 

The room hummed with palpable frailty as she rejoined him on the bed. He was gazing at her with unexpected reverence. 

“I did, didn’t I?” she asked quietly, even though she knew that wasn’t what he had meant. 

She leaned into the soft warmth of him, pressing her bare belly against his. He hissed with pleasure as their skin made contact. 

He pressed soft kisses into her collarbone, her neck, that lovely spot beneath her ear, and then looked up at her. 

“Did you?” he whispered. His grey eyes were plaintive and unrelenting. 

A gentle rain was pattering against the window. Hermione heard the wind pick up. 

She brought a hand up to cup his jaw. His beautiful fingers were tracing her hip. She longed, abstractly, for a Time-Turner. Then they could spend another hour like this. Another year. 

She brushed her nose against his and smiled gently at him, her eyes a little wetter than she would have liked as they met his. 

She said it like a promise. 

“I did.”  
  


\--<>\--

“Green suits you, Granger.” Malfoy smiled wickedly and pulled her earlobe into his mouth. 

“Don’t get used to it, Malfoy,” Hermione replied around a gasp. “One time only.” 

“In that case,” Draco whispered huskily, grasping a satin-clad breast in one hand and slowly working the cup down with one thumb, “perhaps we’d better leave them on.” 

“At least two orgasms,” Hermione panted, as Draco kissed his way down her neck, “before you fuck me.” 

Draco had tugged the green lace and satin down with his teeth and latched his mouth around her nipple. He pulled back just enough that his warm breath ghosted over her wet nipple, sending a pleasurable shudder down her spine. 

“I see you’ve raised your standards, Granger.” Draco smirked up at her, sparkling, before kissing his way ever lower. 

He pulled the gusset of her knickers aside and pressed his mouth against her. She threw her head back as he worked his tongue over her clit and pressed two fingers into her. 

He was a fast learner with a clever mouth and deft hands. He remembered what she liked, and _improved_ upon it. There was no denying it; Draco Malfoy was a studious lover. 

Something in her heart clenched fondly even as her pelvic muscles spasmed under his hands. It had never ever been a hate fuck, though she had tried to believe that it was, to justify it to herself. Who had she been trying to fool?

Draco canted his fingers up, moving them faster. Hermione was breathless, frantically bucking her hips into his hand. 

She pulled his hair as a pressure built within her with every thrust of his fingers. She began to tense, and Draco sucked her clit into his mouth.

Hermione clutched the sheets with one hand and held his head to her with the other. She was mewling and grunting and she was _so close_. 

“Fuck, Draco!” she cried out, breathing hard as her eyes rolled back in her head. He added a third finger to her cunt and she clenched around him. Draco looked up at her from between her legs as she unraveled. 

She met his eyes, her gaze unguarded as the pleasure rolled through her. 

Her hips were spasming uncontrollably and a series of fairly undignified noises came out of her mouth rather against her will. She closed her eyes and cried out as she reached the apex, her whole body seizing, her leg shaking, her entire physical being consumed by unrelenting ecstasy. 

It was _good_. He was good. They were good, impossibly, together. Every single coveted time had been stupidly good. 

As she let go and came around his mouth, his fingers, something within her released. Her hips and legs trembled, spasming uncontrollably. She felt the warm rush of fluid between her thighs, completely drenching the lacy green knickers that she was still somehow wearing and spilling onto the enchanted pad below. 

Draco moaned and lapped at her, drinking her in even as she rode out the aftershocks. He nuzzled his wet face into her thighs, her cunt, the sodden knickers. Everything was soaked.

“Circe,” he breathed, his voice low and devout. 

“Not a goddess, Malfoy.” Hermione grinned, blissfully undone. She had fallen back on the bed, weightless and exhausted. Every single muscle in her body was relaxed. “Just an average witch.”

“Agree to disagree?” From between her legs, he propped himself up on an elbow and tilted a brow at her roguishly. This secret Draco, almost a stranger to her, with his sincere smile.

She pressed her hands into her face, laughing. How was it possible that things between them felt this easy? 

Then she was pulled back to the present moment, gasping and arching into his touch. Malfoy had dispatched the wet knickers and was fucking her again with two slender, clever fingers. He fucked her to the edge of madness, then pulled his fingers out. He stroked her clit hard and fast until she came again, wildly, thrashing and quivering and drenching Draco’s arm, first with a trickle and then with a torrent. 

Flushed and panting, she drank almost a quart of water while Draco found and laid down a clean sex pad. And then her fingers were around his truly beautiful cock. It matched him quite well: slender, graceful, and - she hated herself even for thinking it - somehow _refined_.

A crashing, hungry kiss. Her fingers around his cock, his hands on her breasts. Her lips on the shell of his ear, his mouth on her neck. Her eyelids fluttering again, his cock inside her. His hands stirring over her clit, her head thrown back. He beckoned her, and she came for him. Oh, she _came_ , they both came, until they were both slick with sweat and come, sticky and salty, collapsed together shaking and sated. 

Hermione thought she might be dehydrated. But no sooner did the thought rise than it immediately fell away. 

Every single stress and each overly analytical thought had been wrung from her. Every ounce of energy had been used up. Hermione’s only remaining option was to fall asleep, with zero compunction, with her head tucked into Draco’s chest. 

Cleaning spells, electrolytes, showers, defining the relationship . . . all of these could keep until the next day. First, she needed to sleep for twelve hours. 

And then, perhaps, she would see about doing all of this again. 

* * *

**Coda  
** _Wednesday, August 17, 2011_

“Did you wear the green ones?” Draco asked hopefully as he unbuttoned his shirt.

Hermione laughed and shook her head as she leaned down and removed her heels. “Not a chance, Draco.” She glanced up at him fondly. He was all white shirt and white hair in the white hotel room, the afternoon sunlight slanting delicately over his sharp features. How she loved him, in a way that lived somewhere far deeper underground than words could ever reach. 

“I suppose you’re going to expect me to ruin the bed again,” she mused ruefully, hands on her hips as she regarded the pristine king bed. Draco had booked the same exact room as the first time, months in advance, and now she was glad, even though it was awfully sentimental. 

“Not likely,” he replied, unbuttoning his shirt. He gestured futilely to the charmed pad that she had laid out on the bed when they’d unpacked. “I have an _association_ with these things now. You lay one out, and my cock is instantly hard.” 

Chuckling, she stepped out of her nylons. “We could get green pads if you’d like. Perhaps even use transfiguration, in a pinch. Something sexier, silk or velvet or what have you.” 

Draco shook his head and stepped out of his trousers. “There’s no need. I’ve come to like these ones. They’re quite _effective_.” 

“Unzip me?” 

He stepped close, down to his briefs now, and dragged the zip of her navy sheath dress down her back painfully slowly. His breath tickled her neck, and she shuddered. Leave it to Draco to turn undressing into some form of delicious torture. 

Her dress pooled around her feet. 

“Black lace, eh?” He whispered into her ear, then turned her slowly to face him. 

“For old times' sake.” She beamed up at him. “After all, it is our Sexiversary!”

“I’ve asked you not to call it that,” Draco cringed disdainfully, running a hand through his hair. “Several times!”

“What else am I supposed to call it?!” Hermione protested in faux indignation, trying futilely to remove her earrings as Draco began running his hands over her back. “To distinguish it from our other anniversaries?” 

“Perhaps call it the day you fell in love with me?” His eyes glinted smugly. 

He was touching her in all of her secret places: the cleft of her ass, the soft spot on the underside of her upper arm, the old purpled scar on her abdomen. He was touching her with the confidence and intimacy of someone who knew every square inch of her. It was _exquisite._

Hermione snorted and crinkled her eyes at him, her expression warm. “Perhaps the day you thought I was a virgin,” she suggested dryly.  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes at her playfully, swatting her bum as she yelped through her giggles. 

“Or rather,” he began in a quieter voice, “the day you made me yours.” The room seemed to freeze around them, a static frame of hotel white and summer sunlight. She had the Time-Turner wish again, absurd - the greedy desire to have more moments like this with him, even though she already had so many. 

“Truly?” She swallowed, her eyes a bit watery. 

“Ever since.” He was solemn. His face was seldom this open. 

“Happy anniversary, H,” he breathed into her ear, his low voice all gravel. She considered. Ten years. 

He pushed her back gently onto the bed, and they tumbled down, grappling. She touched his secret places, his scars too. Their mouths met in a kiss that was tender and passionate and familiar. She felt _known_ by him. 

They didn’t have to negotiate today (although sometimes, of course, they still _did_ ), and she didn’t have to demand any number of orgasms from him. He knew what she wanted, and he would contentedly make her come, in any way she liked, as many times as she would let him. 

Though he still wouldn’t let her fuck him in the shower. He claimed it wasn’t as much fun if he couldn’t feel her gushing around him. 

Straddling him, she pulled back pensively. 

“But what about the five missing years?” Hermione asked in a hushed voice. Her forehead wrinkled a little sadly. 

Draco pulled her close and kissed her forehead where it was creased with worry. He brushed his nose against hers sweetly, peering right into her with those damnably sexy silver eyes. He smiled, the smallest quirk of his lips.

“Water under the bridge.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to my alpha on this piece, the ever-lovely [PacificRimbaud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacificRimbaud/pseuds/PacificRimbaud). (Psst: Her works are so wonderfully written, and I highly recommend checking them out if you haven't already!)
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [grangerdangerfics](https://grangerdangerfics.tumblr.com/)! Come say hey! 
> 
> I'm neck-deep in a long Nevmione with a splash of Dramione on the side that I'm waiting to post until it is fully drafted. Look for that coming sometime this spring! And there are other exciting spring projects on the horizon. :plotting hands: 
> 
> Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this creation.


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